You Gave It All Away
by Unspoken Tragedy
Summary: He realized that maybe, after all this time searching, after all he’d put into looking for his brother, maybe he wouldn’t like what it is he found.'
1. How Does It Feel, That It's Gone?

**Title: You Gave It All Away**

**Author: Unspoken Tragedy**

**Rating: PG-13, though it may eventually become R.**

**Spoilers: Other than the general ones, none.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Not even this computer I'm typing with.**

**Summery: Twenty-three years ago Don lost his brother. Finding Charlie just turns out to be the easy part.**

**Series: none yet**

**A/N: To all those awaiting updates on my other stories: Yes, they will be finished. Yes, they will be updated assoon as possible.To those annoyed that I'm writing something new instead of working at the old, "I can only work on what's in my head."- Charles Eppes (Not the exact quotation, mind you.)**

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**You Gave It All Away**

**Prologue: How Does It Feel, That It's Gone?**

_"Regret for things we did can be tempered by time; it is regret for the things we did not do that is inconsolable."_  
-Sydney J. Harris, Strictly Personal

_"For of all the sad words of tongue or pen,  
The saddest are these: 'It might have been!'"  
_-John Greenleaf Whittier, _"Maud Muller"

* * *

**876,213 persons reported missing  
788,592 juveniles reported missing  
2,100 missing each day****  
152,265 in danger  
48 hour critical window** _

He'd be twenty-nine today. Just reaching his prime as a mathematician. He'd possibly have a wife, two and a half children and a white picket fence. He'd still be Don's biggest fan, but by now the older brother would have learned to accept it. They'd be a happy family again. There would no longer be two empty places at the dinner table each night, two lingering voids that would never be filled. Likely, they'd all be filled.

He'd be twenty-nine today. Don Eppes sighed, dropped his head into his hands, prayed that today would be the day. The day he found Charlie.

"Don?" A light hand descended upon his shoulder.

"Today's his birthday, Megan."

"I know, Don," the profiler told him softly. "You know, why don't you go home and get some rest? Colby, David and me, we'll do alright for one day without our boss."

He looked at her for a long time before responding. "When Charlie disappeared, I thought my life was over."

"You're still here."

"Yeah, I had such big plans before then though. I wanted to play pro-ball." The agent took a deep breath. "But without Charlie there, cheering me on... I knew I could never make it that far.

"Finding Charlie became my objective, my life's goal."

Megan pulled a chair opposite his desk. "And every year you don't, every year you live without Charlie makes the next seem only that much harder to reach." Don nodded. "Don, I can't tell you that you will find him. The odds are all against it. But I can tell you this: David, Colby and I will do everything in our power to help you find him. Just say the word."

He simply sat there for a moment, speechless. Then, "Thank you. You do not know how much that means to me."

Megan smiled at him. "Anything for the boss. Now get up and go home. You need to be well rested for the amounts of paperwork you have to do tomorrow."

"What about Merrick?"

"He's the one who suggested you take the day off. He knows the significance. Remember, he was the one who worked your brother's case."

Don smiled wanly. "Thank him for me, will you?"

"Already did." She really was the perfect partner.

Don left the office that day with a lighter heart than he had entered it with. Unfortunately, his sleep that night was not so light.

_Don quickened his stride. He was almost jogging now. _That should take care of him,_ he thought with not a little bit of triumph. The youth wasn't entirely sure why his little brother has to always tag along, but he's had quite enough of that annoyance, thank you very much._

_Once Charlie saw that he could not keep up with his older brother, said brother was certain that he'd just go on back home. Probably cry to their mother, though. _Well, you can't win everything._ And being able to hang with his pals without his little brother was a pretty big win in Don's eyes._

_The boy glanced back every so often, mostly just to see the younger boy doggedly trying to keep up, but then Charlie was gone. His annoying little brother had finally given up. Don pumped his fist into the air; jogged the rest of the way to the park._

_It was that day that the older Eppes learned how much more fun it was to be at the park without a nuisance (a.k.a. the child genius that was his brother) nipping at his heels. The looks on his friends' faces when they saw him come alone were gratifying enough for him to seriously consider never allowing the younger boy to come along again. Six should be old enough for to go out and find his own friends._

_Maybe he could speak to his mother about that. Well, after she lectured him over leaving Charlie._

_But once he got home that night a lecture was the last thing he worried about._

_The first words out of his mother's mouth were "Where's Charlie, Don?"_

"_How would I know?" he countered with a question of his own._

"_He went out with you, Don." Don's look of guilt was all she needed to find out exactly what happened. "You left Charlie alone out there." The disappointment stung worse than the anger ever did._

_That night the Eppes searched the neighborhood for their youngest member. The next morning, the cops joined in. But Charlie was nowhere to be found. It was that day that Don learned how much his annoying little brother really did mean to him. He just learned it a few hours too late to do anything about it._

_A year and a half after Charlie's disappearance, their mother, Margaret, took ill. Another year later, she too was gone. The doctors said it was cancer._

_But Don knew that she'd really died of a broken heart._

Agent Don Eppes woke up to a wet pillow. He dreamt of Charlie again. He glanced over at the clock to see it was far too late to call his dad. Even if it weren't, Don didn't really know what to say to the older man.

Throughout his turbulent childhood, his father had been his rock. The one solid place he could always run back to when the waves crashed at him a little too furiously. He supposed he was lucky in that regard. At least he grew up with one loving parent.

Alan had never blamed his eldest son for the loss of the youngest, though Don felt he really should have. If Don hadn't been so stupid, so selfish as to leave his little brother behind, maybe they would all be together today.

The day when Don realized he could no longer remember Charlie's voice, that his only memory of Charlie's face was in the pictures, that was the worst day of his life.

But he had never given up searching for his little brother. He had never accepted the speculation that Charlie was dead. Don closed his eyes. He would find Charlie. He had to.

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**TBC...  
**

**A/N: So it's been done before. So I should be working on other things. This bunny wouldn't leave me alone until I wrote it. Blame the Bunny. A few points before I go:**

**1) This isn't really about a search for Charlie. It's about what Don finds.**

**2) The thing I hate most about Don and Charlie's relationship is that Charlie forgives Don so damn easy. The main premise behind this story was: What will it take for Charlie to make Don pay for his mistakes? An awful lot.**

**3) I think this is the most important point for any who are looking to write an abduction story of their own (this irritates me about most of those I read): When someone is missing, you do NOT have to wait twenty-four hours before reporting it. That is a myth.**

**4) This is not a Charlie Whumping Don Angst story. There will be much angst, though.**


	2. I Know You Wanted Something Real

**A/N: So I got my new laptop yesterday. Yep, still pretty excited about it, and you should be too. 'Cause that means updates! Kinda like the one you've got in front of you now. Not sure what will be posted next, but the odds are against it being about Numb3rs. Sorry.

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**You Gave It All Away**

**Chapter One: I Know You Wanted Something Real**

_"Hope is the denial of reality." _  
-Margaret Weis, Dragons of Winter Night

_"Image creates desire. You will what you imagine."  
_-_J. G. Gallimore_

* * *

"Alright, guys," Don started, waving a manila folder, "What we've got here is an inter-statial drug ring, little evidence and the name of the suspected leader.

"Cain Abrams, white male, late twenties. Came into his fortune maybe six years ago, through dubious means. Officially, he sells antiques. Unofficially, we think he heads one of the biggest crime rings in the state."

"Isn't this a local matter?" David piped up.

Don shrugged. "The locals have been having trouble keeping track of this group, so they dumped it into our lap. Seemed pretty relieved to be washing their hands of this."

Megan groaned, "And why was this given to US?"

"Narcotics is in on it too. Guess they thought this way we have a better chance of cracking the thing." Don sighed. This was not the sort of case he wanted to be heading. Very high profile and very little chance of solving.

"Where do we start?" Colby asked.

"Colby, David, you two start going through what the locals gave us. I want to know who's in on this and who they're talking to. Get Judge Maysen to sign an affidavit for phone records. If you can connect any of the major players to Abrams, all the better." He nodded to Megan. "You and I are going to have a chat with the man himself. See if you can profile him for me."

* * *

Abrams's secretary seemed nervous as she led the agents into his office. Don glanced at Megan. She nodded. She had seen it too. "If you'll just sit down for a moment, Mr. Abrams will be right with you," the young blonde said, ushering them into a pair of comfortable looking chairs. Across from them sat one of the most impressive desks Don had ever seen.

"That piece dates back to the Renaissance era," a smooth voice spoke out from behind them. "The original owner was very reluctant to sell. Unfortunately I am as well. That one's not on the market." Don turned to see a face that was as familiar to him as his own. He dreamt of a similar face every night. Lightly tanned skin, small build, dark curly hair...

"Charlie?" Could it really be? His little brother right here all this time?

Something flashed in the his brown eyes. "Sorry, no," the curly haired man replied. "Cain Abrams." He stuck out his hand.

Don took it hesitantly, as if unsure of whether it really was there. "Don Eppes, FBI. This is my partner, Megan Reeves." Two badges were flashed.

"A pleasure to meet you." Abrams took Megan's hand, brushed a kiss across the knuckles. He glided across the room to sink into his own seat. "So what brings the FBI here?" he asked, lifting a pen off the desk to twirl in his fingers. "I don't recall being late with my taxes this year." He sent the agents a glowing smile.

"We've noticed that a few acquaintances of yours are associated with a group we're investigating," Megan answered.

"Oh?"

Don stood, having recovered from his earlier shock "Yes," he said simply. He scrutinized the framed diplomas that decorated the wall behind Abram's desk. "You have a lot of doctorates... Mathematics, Psychology, Foreign Languages..."

The smaller man smiled. "You would be surprised at what hard work will get you, Agent Eppes."

"Yet you have forgone all those fields of work to sell antiques?" Don continued.

The other gave him a long patient look. "Taking something old and making it into something entirely different... That's what mathematician's do with numbers, psychologists do with people, writers do with language, and it's what I do with antiques."

"What do your parents do for a living?" Don asked, trying an entirely different attack.

"What does that have to do with this investigation?" Abrams snapped in reply.

Megan glanced over at her partner. "We'll need to speak with them as well."

"No need," he replied. "They've been dead for years."

The woman agent smiled in sympathy. "I'm sorry."

"They weren't really there for me anyways." Don winced when he noticed that Abrams was looking at him as he spoke.

* * *

As the two agents exited the towering building that held Abrams's office, Megan spoke, "Enlightening conversation."

Don gave her a look. "He didn't tell us anything we didn't already know."

"He definitely reacted when you called him Charlie."

"I see his face everywhere. I shouldn't think that this time was any different…"

"But when he said that his parents weren't there for him, he was looking at you, Don."

The senior agent smiled bitterly. "I always thought that no matter what, Charlie would be a mathematician."

"You could take a DNA test," Megan steered the conversation away from her partner's guilt.

"Yeah, I can just imagine it now, 'Abrams, I think you may be my long lost brother, want to take a DNA test with me?'" Don sneered.

The woman shook her head. "Don, you're an FBI agent. If you cannot come up with a way to get his DNA, then I think you need to take a trip back to Quantico."

He stared at her for a long moment. Then he pulled out his phone. Speed dialing their office, Don gave the other members of his team one request, "Put a narcotics agent on Abrams, I want to be notified of any suspicious activity on his part. Tell them if the opportunity comes up, I want the man's DNA and fingerprints… It's possible he may be in the database… Yeah. Thanks Colby." He slipped the cellular device into his shirt pocket and turned towards his partner.

"Could have prior assault charges that we can pin on him," she said.

He smiled at her gratefully, but Megan herself was frowning. "I know you want to find him, Don. Who wouldn't in your position? But what if this Abrams is him? What will you do when you find out that your brother is a drug lord?" Don winced.

The hope that had flared in his chest when he'd seen Abrams died. In that moment he realized that maybe, after all this time searching, after all he'd put into looking for his brother, maybe he wouldn't like what it is he found.

* * *

**TBC...**

**A/N: As a warning: Charlie will seem to be VERY OOC. Before I wrote this, I thought to myself, "Alright, I already know how Charlie is right now, but who would he be if this and this happened?" So here he is quite a bit different from he is in the show. **

**Oh, and inter-statial isn't really a word. I know that. It just worked. **


	3. Gone Too Long

**A/N: Sorry. I know it's been forever. I thought I'd never update this, really. But when I received the Season Three box set for Christmas, I promised myself I'd work on this. I still haven't seen any of Season Four, as I work EVERY Friday night, so I guess I'll have to wait for those to come out on DVD too. P.S. If you put spoilers in a review I won't be happy.**

**WARNING: There is illegal drug use in this chapter. I upped the rating to M to accommodate for that. If mentions of drug use offend you, stop reading before the italics.

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**You Gave It All Away**

**Chapter Two: Gone Too Long Now**

"_Those in possession of absolute power can not only prophesy and make their prophecies come true, but they can also lie and make their lies come true." _

- Eric Hoffer

"_Times of great calamity and confusion have been productive for the greatest minds. The purest ore is produced from the hottest furnace. The brightest thunder-bolt is elicited from the darkest storm."_

- Charles Caleb Colton

* * *

Cain Abrams sat silently at his ancient ebony desk for a long time after the agents had left. He ran a hand through his unruly curls- a nervous habit that he'd all but stomped out. _Charlie?_

He had wanted to snap at the man. He had kept his composure; he had been well trained in at least that. _Didn't anyone know that Charlie was dead?_ He sighed.

"Mr. Abrams?" A quick glance told him that his secretary had been there for quite some time.

"Yes?"

"Sam Edwards called. He wanted to know if that encryption software was ready."

A pair of brown eyes narrowed at her. "I told him that it would take a couple of days. I have my own business to deal with as well," he hissed.

The pretty blonde flinched away from him. "I explained that to him, sir, but he really wanted to talk with you directly…"

Cain shook his head. "I don't have time for this." He stood and crossed the office.

"I understand, Mr.…"

"Then get him off the phone!" he growled as he passed her to exit the room.

He didn't have to see her nod to know that she complied. She always complied. When he had interviewed Karen Shelton for the job he'd thought her jumpiness was from the regular pre-interview nerves. By now he knew that it was a sort of character trait.

When he had more time, Abrams just had to find a new secretary. "I won't be in tomorrow," he called to the girl over his shoulder, flipping open his cell phone. Speed dial one: Brandon Thomas, his second in command in both businesses. One day he would have to set the man up, get rid of him before he became competition. Maybe this case of the fed's would give him the opportunity.

But as for today, Cain needed him. There was no other who could take up command in his absence so well. "I need you to be in charge," he answered the man's greeting.

"Sure thing, boss." No questions asked.

The curly haired man closed his phone with a snap and left the building before anyone else could interrupt him. Abrams' Antiques was quite successful, specializing in trading items that only the very wealthy could afford. Of course it was just a façade. It was merely a cover for the less legal trading Abrams really specialized in. He was very certain that the FBI only suspected the drug trafficking (as if they could pin anything on him); weapons and insider stock trading were included as well.

As he settled into his hybrid car, Cain did not wonder how he gotten himself so entrenched in this life of crime. No, he _knew_ how he had gotten here.

_Charlie had always enjoyed going to the park with his older brother. Even simply watching as Don and the other boys played ball provided great amusement to the six year old. Numbers ran through his head as the baseball bat collided with the ball that moved at x miles per hour which arched into the air in the shape of a parabola…_

_Sometimes he wondered if Don could see them too as he enjoyed the sport just as much as his little brother._

_He wasn't thinking that on this day, though, as he watched the older boy move away from him. After a moment he realized it was deliberate. Charlie knew that Don didn't always like spending time with him. So he slowed down and made to turn around. There was no way he was going to catch his brother this time._

_He heard a soft pained moan in the bushes near him and peered into them to see the source._

_The eyes that looked back at him were rimmed with red and wild, surrounded by a sallow, too thin face. "Are you okay, sir?" he asked the man. The smell of vomit told him that the guy had been throwing up._

"_You-" the man said haltingly. He shook his head as if to clear it, greasy strands of tangled blonde hair falling into his eyes. He looked frightened and confused and Charlie felt for him. "I need help!"_

_He grabbed for the boy with a grip far stronger than his emaciated form implied. That's when Charlie got a good look at his arms. Bruised and mottled, the veins underneath looked strange. There were dark infected scabs on his arms and even on the hands that gripped him. The child could feel the tremors that seemed like they'd send the man sprawling to the ground. "I lost it," he cried. "They said they'd bring it, but I lost it and I need your help- I'm going to die!"_

_He flinched away, but the grip was too strong to break. Before he knew what was happening, he was pulled into a house he had never notice until now. It was small and dank and so dirty that he doubted it had been cleaned for weeks. There were syringes on the floor and dirty bent spoons, a shattered mirror and empty beer bottles. The door clicking shut behind them was the worst sound Charlie had ever heard._

_The man tossed Charlie aside when he saw a small package on the floor. The boy shuddered when he noticed how close he had been to getting stabbed with one of the needles. Opening it greedily, tears streamed down the skeletal face as he murmured words that the curly haired boy couldn't hear. "Sir?"_

_He completely ignored the youngest Eppes. He ripped the brown paper to reveal a clear bag with bright white powder in it. In a bizarre type of chemistry experiment, he dipped one of the spoons in the powder scooping up a small pile, melted it with a lighter and injected it into his arm with one of the syringes. This was repeated, the only difference was where he put the needle- his legs, his feet- he just stabbed himself with the syringes over and over, despite Charlie's cries. One, two, three… ten, eleven, twelve…_

_Then he just stopped. He grinned for a second, then grimaced. "No…" He finally saw his captive again. "You!" he screamed, lunging for the boy. "You did this on purpose… you let me take too much! Demon!"_

_Charlie scrambled away and the man fell upon the needles and spoons and all the other stuff that littered the floor. "I'm dying. Please, I'm gonna die." He just stared at the man, watched him crawl across the floor then stop moving at all._

_Tears were falling down his cheeks and soon they gave way to sobs as he stared at the dead man. He didn't know what to do! He wanted to do something. The cops, when they found him would think Charlie did it… the man himself thought that Charlie had done it._

_He shivered as he envisioned a dark jail cell, thick bars separating him from the disappointed looks on his family member's faces. Don would be so mad at him and his mother would cry. His dad would just shake his head in silence. Tears still fell, but he picked himself off the floor._

_He had to get out of here. He couldn't let them find him with that man. The bag of powder caught his eye as he backed away from the body. The boy could remember the look that that guy had given it and snatched it as he searched for a back door. 'It must be something important,' Charlie thought as he snuck out the back. Important enough for a man to die for. Something like that could save a boy's life when he's out on the streets._

_His steps didn't take him home this time, in fact, that was the last place he wanted to go now that he was responsible for a person's death. They would hate him now and let the cops take him away._

Cain closed his eyes as tears threatened to appear. He was just a child then, far too young to understand that the man (or Robert Samson as he later found out) had killed himself. He didn't even know what the drug was then. He was just a child genius, cocooned in his world filled with numbers and his family, the tutors that encouraged his mental growth and the other children that shrank away from his freakishness. A baby anomaly that was too naïve to realize that he was not responsible for everything and that other's actions were out of his control.

Maybe if he had learned this before he had gone too far to face his family… Maybe Don would have embraced him today. Both brothers would have voiced how great it was to see the other. Charlie would have asked Don how he'd been all this time and his brother would reciprocate.

But he wasn't Charlie anymore.

And Cain needed to protect his own freedom, even if it meant lying to the man who'd been his childhood idol. Yes, he had known where to find his family for quite some time. He knew that his mother passed on and that Don joined the FBI. His father owned a small flat near the beach and had yet to retire.

Yes, Cain knew.

He started the car and turned up the radio to silence his dark thoughts. By the time he pulled into the parking garage of his high-rise apartment the beginning calculations of _P vs. NP_ were filling his head.

Abrams set the alarm as he entered his rooms, tossed the keys to his vehicle on an end table and made a beeline to his other office, the one that was kept all to himself. It was set up as a library, books on several subjects lining the walls. There was no desk, though, in its place a brown suede sofa. Countless clear memo boards stood in awkward angles around the room. Across their surfaces were color-coded equations to which only he understood the key to. He moved over to an empty board and uncapped a light blue pen.

Maybe this would be the time he solved the 'unsolvable' equation.

He doubted it, though.

It was always more about the journey anyway.

* * *

**TBC**

**A/N: I hope the drug scene wasn't too hokey. I did research…**

**I'm trying to keep this as far away from the norm of this sort of story as possible, without making it too unrealistic. BTW: the house of the drug dealer is only blocks away from the Eppes' house.**

**I have a good idea of where this is going again (which is far different from what it was before, really). So expect more frequent updates.**


End file.
